


Return to Sender

by Jeepers_Creepers



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Belligerent Sexual Tension, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Independent New Vegas (Fallout), Jealousy, Minor canon divergence, Mutual Pining, Old Frenemies, The Three Families
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:07:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23901298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jeepers_Creepers/pseuds/Jeepers_Creepers
Summary: "Lady Luck? She's always on time."Benny's at the top. He's the head of the Chairmen, every broad wants to be seen on his arm, and he's about to steal the platinum chip right out from under House's nose. Ring-a-ding. It's a shame the courier can't forget about that two to the head when she crawls out of her own grave. Especially for an old pal like Benny.She's got her own plans for New Vegas, and they involve being an 18-karat pain in his ass.
Relationships: Benny (Fallout)/Female Courier, Benny/Courier, Craig Boone & Female Courier, Female Courier/The King
Comments: 12
Kudos: 17





	1. Wild Winds

Any wastelander who still had their head on their neck would tell you to fear the Mojave. They’d sit there and talk like the desert was alive, going on about wild winds and lady luck and whatever other campfire delusions they got from tossing back too much ten cap swill. Benny knew it was all shit. Running the Tops had taught him that—looking out at the tumbleweeds and farmers from his penthouse was no different than staring down at the idiots on holiday throwing it all away onto his blackjack tables. Ants on a hill.

They played and they lost. That was just how the game worked.

Benny cracked his eyes open, gritting his teeth and hissing at the blinding glare. Hot sand stuck to his skin while the world doubled and faded into view. He hauled himself up with all the grace of an NCR square on leave, the rush of blood to his head making him see stars. He scanned the barren desert for her, not recognizing one damn landmark. Cacti were hardly a way point out here, though there sure were a hell of a lot of the damn things.

“Nice to see you’ve finally decided to join us, sleepin’ beauty.” The voice in his nightmares.

Benny craned his neck to look behind him and there she was, perched up on a fence with that damn dog sleeping at her heels. Chess looked just like he remembered her. “You're heavier’n I expected and slept like a baby—practically threw my back out gettin’ you on Bessie over there.” She pulled her arms into a lazy stretch over her shoulders and nodded towards a brahmin that lingered in the shade of a nearby cottonwood, swishing it's tail.

There was no way. He had pulled the trigger. Could still see the tears rolling down her cheeks in that lantern light. And now he was here.

The ropes bit into his wrists and sweat rolled down the back of his neck. God damn. _He’d gotten clocked outside the Tops and-_ “Heyyy, let’s all play nice here, kitten. Whaddaya want here, anyway? Money? Power? All of it and more is yours, babe, just untie me, will ya?” He offered out his hands pleadingly, shuffling awkwardly on the dirt to get to his knees. It was show business, like anything else. If grovelling was what it took, Benny would roll over and bark like a dog.

He just needed to get out of this—he looked around, spotting nothing but that brahmin and a shack— _hellhole_ with his hide intact.

Chess dropped from the fence and planted a shovel into the hard dirt, leaning against it and dragging on a cigarette. Her eyes had darkened into canyon shadows. _Shit._ “Right, not kitten. Sorry, old habits, y'know? Listen, I don't know what you're planning out here but-”

Chess got down to eye level and it was the first time he had really looked at her since that damned night with the Khans. His face twitched. She had looked so sweet even then, all freckles and slim shoulders and heartbroken eyes as she cursed him with every breath she had left, knowing it was the end. He gave her two for her trouble. "Ya sound nervous, Benny. Why? Never seen a ghost before?"

Chess grinned, tilting her head and standing with a shrug. "Don't reckon you're the type for believin', anyhow." She pulled Maria out from her duster.

"Woah, hey, I know we've had our share of scrapes but I never meant for our wires to get so crossed, dig? What happened that night was a numbers game. Nothing personal."

"You're a real class act, you know that? I remember getting the same lines after you screwed me out of those caps. I almost missed hearing you rattle like the snake you are." She clicked the release and glanced at all the rounds Maria had left, sliding it back into place with a sound that had never rung so distinctly in his ears. More than enough to pay him back with interest.

The corner of her lips curled up, but whatever it was it sure as hell wasn't a smile. “You never do mean it personal, Benny. That’s the worst part."

"You can't go getting sour on me now; let me make it up to you! It'll be just like the old days. We both know this ain't your style." He laughed nervously. It was all one big joke, _Chess_ out to kill him. The gal that flounced around in rhinestones and fringe for her act and only flashed those dynamite revolvers for show.

Chess just shook her head and walked back to the fence line. Tossed a shovel at him. “Start digging.”

"How big do you you want it?"

"How tall are you?"

Benny laughed. That was a _real_ good one. It was the heat that was making his heart pound, was all.

“Not that beggars get to be choosers, doll, but can I get my hands untied here?”

“Depends. You gonna try and run on me?”

“To where?” he asked, gesturing around them as best he could with both of his hands tied together. There was nothing. If there were he would've pulled something before he got to see his own gun leveled at him.

Chess considered the sense in it for a moment, leaned up against the fence again. She fished out the platinum chip from one of her pockets. Benny’s heart stopped. “Figure you won't be going anywhere ‘long as I have this, will ya?” She grinned. She flicked open his knife, shrugging, “I've got Maria, too, ‘course. And this cute lil' letter opener you keep in your shoe.” _God damn it._

Getting out of trouble was a specialty of Benny’s, but for a long time after she cut his hands loose he just dug and talked. His brain was fried. Between the ringing in his head and the sun beating down on his shoulders, part of him was still betting this was one of those dreams he was gonna wake up from covered in sweat. But it wasn't a bullet to the head yet. Yet. He could work with that. He'd be fucked if he gave her that chance, either. If there was one thing he had learned in the years of knowing her: the cowgirl didn't miss. That's what she'd been hired for.

That was the only reason he was relieved when she picked up another shovel from the pack brahmin, who nuzzled it's head against her side like it was looking for treats. Benny watched her out of the corner of his eye, forcing the shovel through the unwilling earth. It was sick, really, shooting her point blank just for the kid to come back again. He'd never seen the game work quite like this.

If anyone did really walk with a wild wind at their back, he was looking at her. It tugged at her clothes, brushed her hair off her shoulders, and Chess only tipped back her hat and squinted at the clouds that had gathered in the distance. They'd turned pink, eating all the light from the setting sun. Her faint shadow was all he got to see, stretching tall as she came to a stop behind him.

"Remember what you used to say? _'Can't lose if you don't play'?"_ Her voice was all caramel, knocked out of whack by the twang of the boonies. "When was the last time you had something to lose?"

Her shadow arced; he was too slow. Didn't even feel the shovel connect.


	2. These Boots Are Made For Walkin'

Goodsprings was a hole he never thought he'd be back to.

The bar was just as rickety and quiet as he remembered, the throbbing in his head replacing the grating voices of those dumbfuck Khans from before. Getting out of the sun was a step in the right direction, but when he ordered his beer the bartender stared at him like he had a hell of a lot of nerve to be breathing in her place. He got the stink eye from the scavver in the corner, too, a girl with a mutt about the same size as Chess' at the other end of the bar. What was that old grouch's name? Moscow?

A radio strangled out incoherent noise, motes of dust caught in the sunlight. Benny would hardly call it a warm reception. Okay, fine, he wasn't stupid. Getting shot and left for dead like a lame brahmin was a cause for sympathy in these little do-nothing towns, especially with a mug like Chess', but his caps were still good, weren't they? "I take it back, doll. Make it a whiskey."

He fished around in his pocket, tossing some on the bar. The familiar scrape of a few more got a chuckle out of him. _Oh, god damn, Chess._ How was she running around with Vegas in her pocket when she was too soft to pinch the caps off a real bastard like him?

He settled his head on the table, one elbow propped up and twisting a cap between his fingers, letting all of it's rough edges dig into his skin. It'd be easy enough to get the platinum chip back again, and just to prove what a nice guy he was he'd forgo any more lead her direction. Swank'd back his play—be enough to keep her out of the Tops, old crush or no. That was his _job,_ after all.

What a way for things to turn out. The heavy clunk of a whiskey glass in front of him was a welcome sound, and he didn't bother looking up at the barkeep any more. What a bunch of wasties thought of him was his last priority. Chess had just booked it with numero uno.

He sipped his whiskey, considering his options. Chess was no House, but the broad wasn't born yesterday. She was definitely bright enough to ask why the damn thing was so important...Ah, hell. How deep in cahoots was she with the old man?

He had to figure out how he could get it back from her in the first place. There were some Khans or Powder Gangers around here he could use, couldn't he? After letting the booze numb the hell of a headache he was nursing, it was time to get back into the groove of things. Benny had earned his spot at the top, and Chess'd be damned if she thought he'd roll over now. No one told the head of the Chairmen to heel.

Downing his glass burned goosebumps up his arms. He caught the bartender's eyes as she dried a glass, pretending to ignore him. Put on his sweetest voice. "So, babe, where is she?"

It took ten minutes to find out where Chess was headed; the trouble the women in the bar gave him just for asking was more than made up for by the three words he needed to hear from the general goods store chump: _"She said Vegas."_ All Benny bought was some piece of shit bolt action he had rusting behind the counter.

Everyone had their price.

* * *

Jackals. The lowest of the low. They weren't fit to shine his shoes and here he was, stuck inside a police station to watch them chip plaster off it's ancient walls. They were so hopped up on chems they couldn't even shoot straight.   
Benny had been stupid not to pop the first one as soon as he saw him. One yell and the cannibals were crawling outta the woodwork like the pests they were. 

What could be say? He'd almost been overtaken by a sense of nostalgia, looking at those crazy 'dos and piecemeal armor.

He settled his rifle on the sill and whacked the two closest before he ducked back under cover to reload. "Get the fucker!" Three more shots punched through the old walls. The third rained splinters on him. They were getting closer.

"Morons," he muttered while they yipped and howled. They were having _fun,_ all right, and Benny had Chess to thank for it. _Once he got the chip-_ Another cheap shot, but this one connected. It grazed his shoulder and sent the round he was trying to load flying out of his hand and skittering under one of the desks. "God damn it!" 

He slammed the magazine in, ignoring the pain searing up his arm. That was it. These savage fucks got _one_ chunk of him. One. 

He opened fire on them, and they were too stupid or too high to run for cover. All they ever did was come closer. Benny made sure that was the last brahmin-shit-inspired idea that ever crossed their minds. 

He had forgotten what doing the dirty work felt like—he was slamming back the bolt and squeezing the trigger with shaky hands. After enough gunfire to send everything else in the desert packing, it finally fell quiet. Benny peeked out to see the last of them twitching. At least splattering their brains was some kind of satisfaction.

He slumped back down, his head tilted against the wall while he caught his breath. There were old holes in the ceiling. A shadow dropped over him. Fuck. 

"There you are!" A Jackal threw himself through the window knife first. Benny got the wind knocked out of him, shoving the blade off course on instinct since he could hardly see through the stars in his vision.

His lungs may as well have been crumpled paper bags. It took both hands to stop serrated teeth from twisting around to bite into his shoulder, and Benny was shaking like a leaf just from the strain. 

He swung his free elbow up and it cracked against the junkie's head, getting him to reel back enough that Benny could breathe. The knife slid out past them both. He rolled onto his belly and tried to get to his feet, but the mohawked freak tackled him like a yao guai. 

In the dusty afternoon light the blade gleamed like the lights on the Strip, just out of reach. Another knock to the head was just what he needed to throw himself forward, wrenching his bad shoulder as far as it could go to get his fingers around the hilt. "Say hey to the big casino, pallie!" 

Benny may have lost some muscle, but he was as quick as ever. He dug it right into his neck and the blood jetted, alright. Spurted like someone had turned the tap on. The Jackal crumpled, gurgling and easily kicked off like an overzealous broad.

It took a while to catch his breath, but Benny wasn't about to make the same mistake twice. He drug himself to his feet and glued his hands to his rifle, shouldering the door open to the desert and readying himself to clear anything from sight that so much as twitched. Nothing did. He circled the station like a vulture and put a few rounds in the dead ones just to be safe. You'd get nothing less from god damned tribals.

The warm tang of copper got him to run a thumb along his lip. It came back red. Benny spit the blood out of his mouth, and didn't think about who's it was. 

He had to split before the cazadores showed, but made sure to strip the bodies of whatever ammo and food they had on them. Even traded his peashooter out for a lever action, not that it made him miss Maria any less. No, Maria—like everything else, it felt like—was wrapped up with Chess. Tucked into her high-waisted jeans and probably wearing at Maria's engraving that very moment. The thought was enough to make him grit his teeth. 

What the hell did the kid think she was going to get if she made it back to Vegas, anyway? Caps? What, was the pipsqueak planning on extorting him? Threatening to tell Swank? She didn't want him dead, so it had to be caps she was after.

After this little revenge stunt of hers they were even, but if she begged real nice he might let her be his girl; buy herself whatever she wanted and sit around and read magazines all day like the King's broads did. She was the Queen of Hearts, after all. 

It had been a few years, but Benny couldn't ever get away from the talk about her act. Guns, magic, a nice pair of legs—what could be more memorable for some NCR schmucks? A two bit sparkle for know nothing fools.

* * *

There was nothing out here. Ruins.

The sun finally pried itself off his back, but as soon as it was gone you lost the advantage of getting to see what was coming at you. Benny didn't like stopping, but he didn't like the alternative much better, either. He couldn't be too reckless here. Chess was one thing, the rest of the tribals... It took crushing an empty Psycho syringe underfoot to get him to stop. They were different.

The old shack he ended up finding was on it's last legs, but keepin' 3/4ths of you safe was better than none, so Benny folded. Starting a fire used to be the first thing he got going, but today wasn't the day to put his name up in lights. Where there was one pack of trouble there was guaranteed to be another. Jackals and Fiends fought over all these parts, ready to jump any idiot that walked the highways alone. Benny snorted to himself, patting his pockets for his smokes. Guess that was him.

He shivered and gave the old mattress the side eye, but that bloodstain right in the center hardly said sweet dreams. Still, besides the drafts, it was the only thing to keep him company. Perching himself on the very end, he used a Jackal's lighter to get his first cigarette going. What had Chess thought, waking up with his lighter in her empty holster? Not that he felt _bad_...he gave her a good death, even the decency of showing his face.

What she got mixed up in was bigger than her, was all. Bigger than what a good natured smile could save you from.

She couldn't always get what she wanted, he thought, right before coughing so hard he almost sucked the damn cigarette to the back of his throat on the first drag. It burned like hell, and tasted... _spicy?_ He almost wiped at his eyes, but stopped with his hand hovering over his cheek. It wasn't poison. It was jalapeno.

Benny flicked the cig onto the dirt and crushed it under his heel. Yeah, he really didn't feel bad for shit. That East Nowhere smart-ass dipped his cigarettes, too. Wouldn't let him get any of his kicks, huh? Fine. He scooted back against the wall and crossed his arms. What a pain.

It took gunshots for Benny to realize he'd bought his ticket to dreamland; they echoed and overlapped and he was on his feet before he knew why. It sounded like two or three different weapons, but they were so far off that even stumbling into the night outside he couldn't see any sparks. He kept watch, lever action slung across his back, but all he had to look at was the strip—Vegas' big, twinkling nightlight.

And then the echoes faded into nothing, carried off to some distant dust bowl and leaving him with his thoughts. No one came for him. No friends, no enemies, not even Chess. So he dragged himself back off to bed, kicked an old chair in front of the door, and promised himself the next day would be the day he caught up with her and he'd never sleep on a bloodstain again.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello yes welcome to chapter 2 of "Benny Is Used To Getting Whatever He Wants" lmao. Anyway, please let me know what you think and thanks for reading! I have a lot planned for this fic <3


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